Free Island of Echoes by Roman Gitlarz

practitioner of the faith. The idea of teaching gospel was far from my interests and I could tell the others were likewise put off by the idea.
    “Always the missionary, Father,” Travert finally replied lightheartedly.
    “God works in mysterious ways,” Father Daniel declared, “and judging by that pagan temple we first came across, I doubt his word has reached these shores.”
    “Let’s not be too hasty to assume anything. There is a great deal we don’t know about these people yet,” Lady Pearson murmured.
    “Naturally,” I agreed. “Which is exactly why documentation should be our first priority.”
    “That’s not precisely what I meant,” she went on. “When you have guests over, do you take them to the salon or the servants’ corridors? Believe me, we are only being shown what they want us to see. It’s all well and good for now, but there is much more here than meets the eye.”
    We all looked down at our plates and continued to eat in silence. Her words echoed the numerous befuddling experiences I have already had on the island, including the vision in the corridor just minutes prior. Despite my enthusiasm, I instinctively knew she was right.

CHAPTER  7

     
    “Now if you’ll all excuse me,” I stated at the conclusion of our meal, “I would like to explore some of this tower prior to our dinner summons.”
    “But…” Father Daniel sputtered, “suppose they don’t want us poking around. I don’t want to risk offense.”
    “I quite agree,” Lady Pearson piped up. “I certainly wouldn’t expect to see one of my houseguests trudging around the mansion unsupervised.”
    “Not to worry, I shan’t venture far,” I pacified them. “I’m simply curious about the architecture of this building. If anything, they should find it a compliment that I have taken such an interest.”
    “May I join you?” Rémy requested excitedly.
    “Of course,” I replied and we made our way from the table. “We will be back in no time.”
    “Just be sure to fill us in on any discoveries,” Ella encouraged with a smile. I flashed her a grin and nodded.
    I carefully opened the ornate lounge door and glanced down the corridor. Empty. Rémy and I stepped out quietly and I clicked the door closed behind us. I could see the arched entryway to the staircase down the hall, with an identical opening at the other end, presumably to a mirrored stairwell. Rémy instinctively began walking toward the opening we had come from but he stopped when he saw that my eyes were drawn to the segment of limestone paneling before me.
    “What is it?” he asked in French.
    “I’ll tell you in confidence,” I began, “because I know you would not consider me senseless,” and I quickly recounted my observations of the odd light and the secret passage within the wall.
    His eyes went wide as he listened to my recollection. “And it was right here?”
    I nodded and we began feeling the wall before us, but it was as cold and solid as any other stone. The doorway was concealed well. The square panels of polished limestone were organized into a grid, making it impossible to detect where the crevices surrounding a door might otherwise have broken the arrangement. The smooth panels were broken every two dozen feet by ornamented half-columns of darker stone.
    “The light came from this area,” I indicated the dark stone, which I fathomed to be granite. It was intricately chiseled with a pattern I had never seen before. Flowing lines were carved into the column so that it appeared wrapped in many narrow ribbons. We were examining the unique design when we spotted it. Nestled among the carvings was a perfect black square, flat and unornamented.
    “It doesn’t even look like stone,” Rémy pointed out, his face mere inches from the mysterious shape. It was perfectly smooth without any natural grain and it was not as reflective as the granite surrounding it. I reached out to touch it, but the young boatman quickly grabbed my hand.